Crossfire
by asagohan-no-bento
Summary: young!ConWorth.  Basically a lot of smut following a very vague plot that will eventually run into the comic's actual plot line.  Join me won't you?  :D  Posted for Dhampir72.  R&R GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
1. First Encounter

**A/N: This is pretty much just one big AU f#ckfest centering around young!Con/Worth. OH HO HO! But seriously, it's basically just lots of pr0n with a lot of plot. Just an F.Y.I. So yeah...enjoy!**

**This is for you Dhampir72, since you asked me to put it up~ I love your stories and hope this one isn't too bad in comparison to your awesomeness! :]**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything...so yeah...

**Warning: Graphic male-on-male sex. You've been warned.**

**Crossfire, Chapter One:

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**

It's the last week of summer, just before you start your senior year when you meet _him._

Short blond hair, clean shaven. There's this air of complete and utter indifference around him, as if the way he took in and released a breath conveyed a message of: _'Go screw yourself.'_

And you're smitten. You're suddenly hit with this wave of infatuation for this man you don't even know.

All of your adolescent doubts about sexual orientation are thrown out the window, because you know now, more than ever, more than that time when you gave away your first kiss to that art teacher way back when, that you're gay.

And you just know, deep deep down, that if you don't go and talk to this person _right the fuck now_ you're going to regret it for the rest of your life.

So you do, because living with regrets isn't really your thing yet, you save that for when you're older and a little bit wiser, more protective of your heart, aware of how comforting regret can be. At least it's not _heartache_, heaven forbid. Because you're naive and trusting. You're seventeen for goodness sakes, of course you are.

You excuse yourself from the small group of friends you entered the game shop in the mall with and run towards the crowded second story escalator, quickly pushing your way through one person after another, ignoring the disapproving remarks they throw after you.

You get to the first floor and you're quickly scanning the area, looking for that sand-blond hair.

Your black irises widen behind your glasses as you spot him, this unconscious, _innocent_ smile coming to your too thin lips as you run after him.

You swerve in and out of people, eyes never leaving his back, and your worn converses are squeaking with the effort against the mall's dirty linoleum.

You get stuck in a crowd that's gathered around some display of one product or another and you watch as he exits the mall, the doors sliding open and shut in an omniscient manner, as if mocking you at your lost chance.

But you don't relent. It's almost as if your chase is renewed as you squeeze your way through with a sudden burst of new found strength.

You make it, nearly falling forward from the momentum of finally being free, and you only take a few precious seconds to catch your breath before you're sprinting out of the building.

The summer heat hits you like an unmerciful bitch the moment you step outside, of course your baggy black zip-up doesn't help the matter one bit, but you're going through that _phase_ where taking it off was out of the question.

That jacket's like a security blanket to you and you're not ready to part with it yet.

You're searching the surrounding area, trying to catch a glimpse of that man because _shit_ you can't believe you're going to regret this your whole life and _god dammit_ why couldn't you have just tried a little harder?

There's this harsh chuckle coming from behind you and you turn, mind still racing from the prospect of screwing the fuck up, your easily swayed pessimism reacting quiet violently to the person now standing in front of you as your thoughts happily die right on the spot.

Because it's _him_.

He's right there and now that you've gone through all the trouble of chasing after him you realize that you have absolutely nothing to _say_.

_'Hello. Sorry about the impromptu stalking, but my body is reacting so_ strangely _to you, hope you don't mind. I'm sure you get that all the time. Wanna get some coffee?'_

You're sure that would go over real well.

You finally register that he's actually been talking, talking to _you_, for the last however many seconds while you decided to go on a small internal mind quest.

"Huh?" You eloquently supply and he gives you this look of: _'Are you completely retarded?'_ You feel like punching yourself in the gut because, _holy shit_ you want this person more than anyone you've ever met and you're _fucking it up_.

"I said the fuck'r you doin' followin' me kid?"

_'He has an accent'_ is the first thing that runs through your mind, and you're too busy computing his voice to memory rather than answering the question because he's fucking _Australian_ and this somehow means something fiercely important to you.

"O-oh! I was...I was, uhm..." Because really what the fuck are you supposed to say? You look at your shoes, stalling for time, for time to think.

But he takes that weight off of your shoulders with his next words, "Yer not t'e sharpest tool 'n the box are ya kid? 's kinda cute."

Your head shoots up, looking at him with unguarded surprise. And then you're scowling because you don't like the undertones that 'cute' implies rather than the insult itself.

That you're young, that you're not a prospect. "I'm not cute." You retort with the slightest pout.

And he _laughs_, this broken wild tone that makes your insides tighten.

"Sure yer not, kid, sure yer not." He gingerly wipes away a few tears of mirth from his eyes.

Your scowl deepens, "And I'm not a kid." It's a feeble protest. "I'm seventeen," You glumly add on as if it makes a difference, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"O' really now, prac'ticly grown up aren't 'cha. Good fer you." He even pats your head with this condescending air and everything.

Dear God, he's sarcasm incarnate. Just your luck.

You're glaring at him, and yet, somewhere deep inside of you, you're not the least bit angry. You're glad that, despite how shotily this meeting is going so far, that it's happening at all.

He gives you this approving smirk, obviously enthralled by your reactions. "Aw, did I hurt yer li'tle fag feelin's?"

"I'm not a fag!" You practically yell at him.

"So yer jus' followin' af'er me fer kicks are ye now? Do ya get off 'n tha' kinda shit fagboy-"

And you snap and punch him right in the jaw. Because you're young and unrestrained and you don't have all your priorities or morals or whatever they're called in a perfectly straight line yet.

This isn't going _exactly_ as you had hoped at this point.

He staggers back, his long thin fingers running over his pointed chin, and his eyes are sharp and so distinctly _pleased_.

You're wondering what the hell you just got yourself into as he gives you this assessing look, a quick sweep up and down that makes you squirm in the most _uncomfortable_ way as his crooked smile grows even wider.

He grabs your wrist and starts pulling you into the parking lot, quickly tugging you along as you practically spaz out behind him.

_'Oh shit oh shit oh shitshitshit what the FUCK did I just do?'_ You think frantically, almost too distracted by the sheer _heat_ that's coming from this man's hold on you. It's like he's a goddamn portable heater.

Your thoughts are cut short as he lets go of your wrist momentarily and your eyes are wide behind your glasses. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and shoves one into the car the two of you are standing in front of. A dumpy piece of shit, the paint flaking and completely missing in certain spots, a light dusting of rust to give it a very broken-down hue.

You want to say something, _anything_, but you're not really sure _what_ and before you can even get out an _'I'm so sorry'_ the driver's side door is pulled open and you're being shoved inside.

You grimace at the fact that you just _squeaked_ from being tossed around so easily and that intoxicatingly dark chuckle is surrounding you again as he climbs in on top of you.

You try to melt into the seat, just like the several rather rancid-looking stains that covers the upholstery as well as the rest of the inside of the car. It really was a piece of shit.

He follows you, his hand deftly reaching for the handle on the side of the seat and you're suddenly lying flat and much too overwhelmed to really make a statement on the situation you've literally stumbled into.

"How old d'ya say y'were again?" He asks, his voice sending a tremble down your spine.

"Se-seventeen," You barely manage to get out and it's the most pathetic you've ever heard yourself sound and you just want to _die_ because of it.

His lips quirk up the slightest bit and you're vaguely aware that you're being straddled by a man that's probably twice your age and comes from thoroughly questionable origins, too busy noticing his eyes are this dark dark brown, nearly black color that's so freaking _unimaginable_.

" 's good 'nough fer me." He says before he roughly bites your neck and you can't stop your body from arching up, from reacting to the harsh treatment.

You hiss as he runs his hot tongue over the abused skin, dragging it up your neck, to your chin before it's opening up your mouth.

You follow his lead, because _really_ you have no fucking clue as to what to do. But his mouth is warm and you can vaguely register the taste of nicotine.

You're not completely inept, you've smoked before.

_Once_ before, and you practically hacked up your lung through the whole process, but still.

It's almost like he's fighting you, his hands tugging roughly against your jacket, his knees digging unnecessarily into your too thin hips.

He runs his tongue over the backside of your teeth, the roof of your mouth and you _moan_.

Your mother would probably kill herself if she found out, but being the tight-ass bitch that she is, she'd probably kill you first.

He seems thoroughly pleased with your reaction, because you can feel his lips smirk against yours as he trails a hand under your jacket, under your shirt, against your overly-heated skin.

It's like every nerve suddenly buzzes to life and you're squirming and arching and you don't know what to do.

Your hands find purchase on his boney shoulders and you shut your eyes tight.

This certainly wasn't what you thought you'd be doing when you woke up this morning. Actually, being felt up by a blond Aussie never really crossed your 'Things To Do' list now that you think about it.

Not that you're complaining or anything, oh _quite_ the contrary.

Those lithe hands grab your hips, fingers digging into your skin ruthlessly as he practically drags your pelvis against his.

And suddenly things have gotten _much too hot_.

You gasp out, voice stuck somewhere in your stomach as your fingers tug at his hair. "D'ya like that?" He whispers into your ear and you bite your lip, your groins still in perfect alignment as a strangled tone of agreement manages to spill through despite your best effort.

It's the closest sound to a whimper that you've ever made.

You like this a _little_ too much in all seriousness.

He's biting your neck, much harder than before, but you can't seem to care.

Because you like this, you want this _so fucking badly_.

To be claimed, to be taken hard and fast and _Jesus_ what the hell was he doing with his tongue?

You're panting now, your mouth open wide as his tongue leaves yours and he sits up, his nails dragging against the exposed skin of your flat stomach.

His eyes are filled with this animalistic _need_ and you're breathing out _'yesyesyes'_ without even knowing what you're agreeing to.

Another smirk before he flicks open the button of your jeans, not even bothering with the zipper before his hand is down your briefs, encircling around you and you scream, throwing your hips into his touch.

He laughs again, and it just spurs you on as he runs his hands up and down your rather lacking length.

He doesn't seem to mind really, and he's leaning back over you, pulling you to his neck. "Bite me," He whispers and you're not coherent enough to protest, and your teeth are on his skin just as harshly as his were on you.

His hand tightens around you and your teeth dig in deeper, "That'sa good pup'." He breathes, picking up the pace of his pumps.

"Ha...ahhh, please, _please_" and you don't even know what you're pleading for as your breath comes out in heady pants, but you _are_ and you want this and you want _him_ and you just wish he'd hurry the fuck up.

Because you're young and needy and always in heat whether you're aware of it or not.

And almost as if to spite you he slows his hand, "Wha' was tha'?"

He gives you one long agonizing stroke and your lip starts to bleed from how hard you're biting on it as you arch into him.

His teeth are suddenly biting down on that lightly punctured lip, drawing out more blood which he greedily laps up and his hand isn't in your pants anymore, but that's okay because he's grinding against you and you're painfully aware of how hard you are, and pleased to find out you're not alone.

You never thought you'd get off on this kind of shit, on something hard and fast.

You've never really considered yourself to be a masochist.

But the way his belt buckle is digging into your abdomen and rubbing the skin raw sparks more need in you and your rocking against him, faster and faster, one moan spilling out after the other.

"Yer jus' _askin'_ fer it," He purrs against your collarbone and you nod frantically, too lost in the sensations, in everything new that this man was creating within you.

Because you're a virgin after all, if the relentless blush against your pale cheeks is anything to go by.

He flips you over, harsh as ever, pinning you tightly against the seat, and grinds against your ass without missing a beat.

His nails are rough against the back of your neck and you're straining to push yourself up onto your hands. He makes room to accommodate, but only momentarily so that your hips are in the air before your face is pushed into the seat again.

And yet you moan at the treatment, you're absolutely lost in this.

The continuous friction against you is driving you ape-shit crazy and you just _need_ and _want_ and he seems to get the message by the broken sounds that are being muffled by the cotton fabric your face is still pressed against.

"Ya really 're fuckin' queer, aren't'cha kid?" The mockery never left his tone.

"Says you," You manage to shoot back, but your head is being pushed down again as he laughs.

"Fuckin' precious, tha's what ya 're." And he doesn't even need to hold you against the seat anymore, you're rather comfortable with this ass-up face-down position he's put you in.

And your heart speeds up at a near impossible rate as he quickly pulls your pants down, the soft flesh now being rubbed against the harsh material of his jeans and you moan and lean into it, meet every shift and movement.

His nails are digging into the pliable skin of your ass, and you hiss as he pries the cheeks apart with another thrust forward for good measure.

You vaguely hear the sound of a zipper, but you're so lost in the feeling of him against you and _oh god this is getting_ _WAY_ _out of hand_ when suddenly he enters you and you scream loudly, sheer pain filling your voice, and you just _know_ something must be torn because your body _wasn't_ built for something to be shoved into it like that.

And you know the two of you have skipped some steps in the progression of all of this and _what the fuck was that all about?_

Your hands are scrambling for purchase on something and tears are streaming down your face, but you just can't _stop_. Because that searing pain between your legs is slowly relenting and he keeps thrusting into you with these hard swift jerks and you want to moan yourself into oblivion and never come back.

The hand that's resting oh so wonderfully on your ass is slowly pulling you into every thrust, trying to coax you into responding more actively, and you follow that hand, meeting every forward motion with one of your own and he smirks. "Tha's it Princess, jus like that." And his voice makes you swoon as your fingers strain against the top of the driver's seat, the knuckles going white.

You don't even care that you're probably bleeding, that you've just lost your virginity to some random stranger that you've only known for a total of about maybe twenty minutes by now, that you're being taken in one of the grimiest cars you've ever laid eyes on and that anyone could walk by at any moment and hear _exactly_ what was going on.

Words are falling from your mouth and you just can't stop them, you've lost count of how many times '_harder_' or '_more, please..._' has been lost to the boiling air around you.

He's thrusting so fiercely that the entire car is shaking, and you're rocking your hips against him and you take him in balls deep, fully accommodating to his rather substantial girth like a pro.

"Can ya feel that? How fuckin' _deep_ I am inside ya?" You whimper to let him know that you _do_, oh God you _do_ and much to your amazement the thrusts get wilder and you can't take it much longer and he's biting on your shoulder now exposed shoulder, your jacket having slipped loose awhile ago, and you pray that there'll be a mark there so that you'll know this wasn't all just some crazy, hormone-induced fantasy.

And right before you're convinced this _can't_ get any better, or any _worse_ the still rather conservative section of your mind grimly supplies, his hand is around you and with every forward thrust he's stroking down and with every pull out of your heat he's palming your head, fingering the slit and letting a few droplets of pre-cum escape, slowly leaking onto the seat and adding to the nice plethora of stains already accumulated there from _God knows what_.

You don't know if you should move backwards or forwards, the all consuming _heat_ that your body is fully saturated in is driving you insane and you don't know how to fuck his hand and his dick at the same time. But you're trying, and you think you've almost got the hang of it when he's leaning over you again, and you realize just how much you _love_ the way his body feels against yours.

"Yer fuckin' close ain't ya, bet ya just wan'ta _come_ righ't? Ya want me to come deep in'side yer fuckin' ass don'tcha?"

And you lose it because _really_ who the _fuck_ can say things like that and not expect this kind of outcome? That coil that's been tightening gradually in the pit of your stomach finally snaps and you're cumming _so fucking hard_ that you can't even breathe. You scream out one final time as your semen coats his rough fingers, and your throat just feels so raw.

Your ass convulses around him for what seems like forever and he's cumming too, right into you and you're not really sure what to do with this information that your body is sending to your brain.

You instantly decide that you _really_ REALLY don't mind the feeling and your heart beat starts to regulate itself, and you catch your breath as he promptly catches himself from collapsing on top of you.

You can feel him soften within you and it's one of the most thrilling sensations you've ever experienced.

You want to say something, you really really do, but you can't seem to make any coherent thoughts other than, '_holyfuckingshitdamn_'.

He pulls out, and you suddenly feel so fucking _empty_ that it's just not fair, and a huge frown fills your bruised lips.

You hear that zipper again as you try to support yourself on your hands, try to get up. You can't manage to look him in the eyes.

"Was tha' why you 'ere fuckin' tailin' me like some lost pup?" He manages to say, his voice a little breathier than it was before and you find some sort of satisfaction in the fact that you're the cause of it.

You want to say "Hell no!", but you're just too sedated and happy and _holy crap, you just lost your v-card and it was everything you never thought it would be_ so you nod dumbly and he smirks at you.

You're surprised though, when you feel him pull up the waist band of your underwear, followed soon after by your jeans. It just doesn't seem like something that he would do, it was almost, dare you think it, _caring_.

You give him this lost look, but you realize you can't see him all that well. Your glasses are apparently M.I.A. and this takes up all your attention. "Shit." You lean back over the stained seat, mindful of the newly acquired wet stains, and grope around the floor of the car.

"What?" He asks, leaning his head over to the side. "My glasses," You grumble as you continue to search and your fingers lightly brush against their frame, and quickly wrap around them. You sit up and hastily try to put them on your face, but his hand stops you. You look at him, his face is so close and you can't understand why.

His lips ghost over your cheek and you close your eyes as they fall against your lips.

It's slow and languid, everything that the sex _hadn't_ been and you're melting from the near-earth-shattering emotions that are filling you.

You know it's cliched and that there is most definitely something wrong with all of this, but as he lays one last peck against your mouth, his breath ghosting over your face in a lengthy sigh you can't really see the fault in it.

Because your foreheads are pressed together and you're just so _goddamn_ content despite the collective spike of soreness centering around your posterior, nothing could ruin this for you.

Well, _almost_.

Your phone rings and the both of you are startled by the sound.

You quietly apologize as you pull the cellular device out of your back pocket, surprised it hadn't dropped somewhere in the car like your glasses had, and answer it.

It's your friends and they're wondering where the hell you are, and _what the fuck_ it's time to go.

You tell them okay and you'll be there in a few, promptly ending the call and shifting awkwardly from where you're sitting on the seat.

"I've...I've got to go," You tell him warily, unsure about the protocol for all of this. Your high school didn't exactly have a Post-Intercourse Etiquette course, so you're a little ill-informed.

You don't want this to be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort of situation, but at this rate it's turning into one. You look at him, and you feel so lost and swept away, and _god dammit_ why are you crying?

He pulls you toward him and roughly bites your ear, it's as encouraging as he can be apparently, and you close your eyes and try to stop the tears. His lips slide to just behind the lobe and sucks harshly, leaving one last mark and your phone slides out of your hands without you knowing it.

The two of you separate and he seems just as reluctant as you are. You exhale in finality and get out of the car.

He slips into the drivers seat as you close the door and the window is quickly rolled down.

Your hands are back in your pockets and you're not really sure where to look.

"Th-thank you, I guess..." You trail off with this uncertain smile. You realize that you're just as smitten as ever when he lights up a smoke and takes a drag.

"M'pleasure," He says nonchalantly, and he looks you up and down again before giving you a nod. He starts the engine, and shifts into reverse, looking behind him once.

He gives you a fleeting glance after he backs out of the spot then he's gone.

And you stare after his car, after that piece of shit car.

Your fists clench as you turn to walk back into the mall, the heat outside doesn't seems to be as bad as you remember it.

Something finally hits you right between the eyes as you step through the automatic doors.

You just gave your virginity away to some guy, _and you didn't even know his fucking name_.

And what's worse?

You left your phone in his car.

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A/N: So there's chapter one~ Please review :D There's much more to come!


	2. Second Encounter

**A/N: Here's chapter two. My main goal for this series is just to have these two do the dirty in every chapter. Sound good? Good.**

Disclaimer: Still don't own a single thing in regards to this.

**Warning: MOAR GAY SEX OM NOM NOM~**

**Crossfire Chapter Two:

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**

You get home and you're really not sure what to do.

Your mom asks what happened to your lip and you realize that it's bleeding again, but you're too distracted to care.

And so is she. The vaguely maternal figure in your life shrugs it off and continues with her work as you head to your room.

You close the door behind you and your fingers idly press against the bruises that litter your neck, and you still have _no idea_ what to do.

Should you call him?

Would he even realize that he could technically call you?

Would he even _care_?

You're going to need your phone back, that's for sure, but you can't bring yourself to actually _call_ despite the fact that it _is_ your phone and everything.

And then you realize, this is the absolute perfect opportunity.

You want there to be more with this person, you still _want_ this person.

This person that you know absolutely _nothing_ about need you remind yourself.

You pace around your plain organized room until you've reasoned yourself the courage to just fucking _call_, because really, what was there to lose?

So you grab the landline, staring with determination down at the wireless phone before punching in your own cell number.

It rings.

And rings.

And your stomach sinks as you're sent to voicemail.

You hang up a little harsher than you need to, a pout on your still-bruised lips.

A hundred things are running through your head, a thousand reasons why he didn't answer and you manage to somehow get yourself to thinking that you should try again.

So you do.

You hit redial and hold the device up to your year, heart racing with anticipation.

One, two, three rings later and you're sent to voicemail. Again.

You want to throw the phone across the room, because _really_ why was this so fucked up?

Why couldn't you have remembered or even realized that you had dropped your phone sooner, so that you wouldn't be in this situation and you could continue on with your measly existence and try to forget about everything that had happened today?

Because that would be all too _convenient_, that's why.

You take in a deep breath, staring at the numbers on the phone before you nod once in determination.

It _is_ your goddamn phone after all, you have every right to call it however many times you want.

The phone's ringing is so loud in your ears that you practically yelp when it's answered.

"THE FUCK IS THIS?" His voice yells into the receiver and you're almost too busy freaking out over the fact that he actually _answered_ to comprehend the clearly displeased tone of his voice.

"I...I left my phone in your car," You manage to get out, and _Jesus Christ_ talking really shouldn't be this difficult.

There's a pause before his voice is streaming into your ear again, "Who 'r you?"

Your heart nearly breaks at that because _holy shit_ you had sex with this man not three hours ago and he can't even recognize your voice.

"It's...it's _me_," Because how else are you supposed to make him realize who it is if he doesn't remember himself?

"I dun' know any 'Me's kid, sorry," He says and you can tell he's being totally serious and _oh so unhelpful_ and you have the undying urge to punch him again.

"I'M NOT A KID!," You yell back instead and apparently that's your golden ticket because there's this spark of realization in his menacing laugh.

"Ah, th' li'tle fagboy, wha' 're ye doin' with m' number?"

"That's _my_ phone you're using dammit, and I'm not a fagboy, my name's Conrad." You grumble at him, and you feel so stupid, it's a little late for introductions.

" 's tha' right? I mus've missed tha' tid bit when I was fuck'n yer ass," And your ears and cheeks are a flaming red color and you _have_ to change the subject _right the fuck now_ because you're much too paranoid about his voice being so loud that your Mom can hear every word from downstairs and is about to barge into your room any moment now and you really _really_ don't want to have to deal with that.

"Uhm...yeah, anyways, I need to get my phone back...," You're not entirely sure how to pose the question exactly, but you push on through despite your trepidation, "So I was hoping that _maybeyoucouldmeetmesomewhere?_"

He laughs at your feeble attempt to sound nonchalant, to sound grown up, and you just sit and listen as that laughter eventually evens out into silence.

"I s'ppose," He finally iterates, and there's lingering humor in his tone that makes you clench your teeth together. " 'm free t'morrow, is tha' good 'nough fer you?"

You're nodding and you realize that, _oh right_ he can't see your affirmation, "That's fine, where and when?" And you give yourself a major pat on the back because you managed to say that so naturally that you should get a goddamn Academy Award for it.

"Same place, 'aybe 'round five?" His tone says that he could really care less.

"Sounds good," Though your voice kinda squeaks at the end because _hot damn_ this is actually happening. "See you tomorrow at five then?"

"T'morrow a'five Princess,"

"My name's CONRAD-" But he's already hung up and the dial-tone is blaring in your ear instead.

You frown and place the phone back in it's cradle.

"Now what?" You ask yourself, as you look around your blank room. You're restless and you don't know what to _do_ with all this pent up energy.

You feel so enlivened, and you can't believe how absolutely _giddy_ the prospect of seeing him again makes you.

You hear your mother's scratchy voice calling from down the stairs, indicating that dinner is ready, but you're not the least bit hungry because, _fucking shit balls_ you're going to see him tomorrow.

And you still don't know his fucking name.

* * *

You're already waiting at the designated spot just outside of the mall, and you're thankful that it's starting to cool down a bit around you as the August heat wanes away with the day, though it'll still be awhile before night fall.

You glance at your watch impatiently, frowning as the seconds tick by and all of the sudden it's 5:17 and he's _still_ not here yet, and _fuck_ what if he stood you up?

But you're persistent, and stand there stubbornly, you've got your black jacket on and it's the only security you can find in the situation.

Your ears perk up as you hear the unmistakable sputtering of an automobile that you've only heard once before.

There's that piece of shit car slowly pulling up to the curb, the engine nearly exploding in an effort to shut off and you're not sure whether or not you should approach the vehicle or wait for him to get out.

He does the latter, and you're thankful that he's ended you agonizing internal monologue of miserable uncertainty. Those thin hands bring a lit cigarette to his lips as he slams the driver's side door shut with his foot.

A huge puff of smoke is released before he turns and walks over to where you're standing quietly.

You fidget under his gaze as another tell-tale blush stains your cheeks. He smirks, cig still held by his lips, before he uncaringly tosses something at you.

You catch the object and look down at it, it's your phone and it's shining merrily in your palm. But when you look back up, a timid "Thank you," falling from your lips, he's already heading back to his car.

"That's it?" You call after him, desperation clear in your voice.

He takes a quick drag, "Tha's it."

Before he even has the key in the ignition you're standing in front of the car's rusted hood, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

That same condescending curl of lips fills your vision as you stare at him through the windshield.

_What the hell are you supposed to do now_? You're grasping at straws, trying to get your mind and mouth to correlate when a solution finally hits you.

"I-It must've been a huge hassle for you to come out here like this..." You start, not daring to look him in the eyes, your pupils darting anywhere but.

He gives you a quizzical look, one that clearly says that he's listening and you continue.

"So I'd...I'd really like to pay you back for it."

You can hear his laugh and it makes you scowl, this was hard enough without him scoffing at you.

"Yer a'stubborn one aren'ya, kid?"

Your eyebrows furrow together, not sure whether or not what he said was meant as a compliment or an insult, "My name's _Conrad_ dammit."

He waves his hand dismissively as he gets out and stands by the door. "Sure, sure." The cigarette bud is flicked to the ground and he promptly stomps on it. "Wha' d'ya 'ave 'n mind?"

You look around, because you're not really sure _what_ you have in mind, you just know you better think of something quick. You spot a building in the distance and you feel like it's a beckon sent from the heavens.

"Do you have time for a movie?"

His eyes convey a message of:_ "Why the fuck would I?"_ and you're kinda sorta hoping the ground will just open up and eat you whole.

But it won't because since _when_ does the world ever do what you want?

"Y'payin?" He ask and you feel your heart leap into your throat and you just can't believe this could possibly be happening.

"O-of course!" You say and you grimace and how _elated_ you sound and you know that it must come off as completely _lame_.

"Then s'fine."

And you just want to jump and clap and squeal with all the grace of a retarded seal.

He gestures for you to get in the car, and you do, still as naive as ever, still so goddamn trusting. He could be shipping you off to the black market for organ harvesting and you probably wouldn't have even minded.

Your actions are obviously amusing to him because that smirk is practically caked onto his lips as he shifts into drive and you're heading across the street towards the theatre.

You fidget in your seat, berated with overactive memories of what _exactly_ happened the last time you were in this car and you almost feel like you're suffocating from it during the duration of your _at most_ eight minute ride.

He senses your mood, you'd have to be blind, deaf, and brain dead to _not_ be able to sense it, but that's besides the point.

"Calm th'fuck down, 's not like m'gonna rape yer sorry ass'." His self-assured laugh following quickly after the statement.

You're almost positive it's his own hybrid way of offering comfort and you take it as it is.

You breathe out a single 'sorry' as he twirls his keys around his index finger, getting out because _wow news flash_ you're already there and it's time to put your brilliant scheme of monopolizing this _STILL NAMELESS_ man's time.

It's never crossed your mind to simply _ask_ him for it, because that would mess with the overall generic principle of things...or something like that.

You finally catch up to him and he's at the front of the line, scanning the movie times, he's yelling at the half-asleep employee for tickets and you fork over the correct amount of money without even really registering it because you're too busy thanking every God you can think of that he picked an action flick. You _know_ you would've died if you had to make the decision yourself and accidently picked something of the more romantic genre.

"Y'comin' Confag?" He asks, standing by the entrance and your eyes widen as you realize you've been standing around like an idiot.

"It's Con_rad_," You try to emphasize under your breath, quickly handing the tickets over to the employee who rips off the end, gruffly states something about "Theater 17" and hands the ticket-stubs back to you.

It doesn't seem like he heard you and he walks over to the concession stand, and you quietly follow behind him.

"D'ya want somethin?" He asks indifferently, gesturing towards the counter and you shake your head dumbly. "Y'sure?"

"Uh, yeah, I don't really...eat much," You try to elaborate, but he's ordering and the cashier tallies up the total so you go to grab your wallet.

"I got 't," He quickly brushes off your hand and you can feel a blush coming to your cheeks.

"But I said I would-"

"Yeah, yeah," He interrupts, grabbing the pop-corn and soda, heading in the direction of the previously specified theater. "Y'can always pay m'back some other way Princess."

You're too busy trying to figure out what he could mean by _'other way'_ to pay attention to the fact that the two of you are already sitting in a remote corner of the theater, and the lights are dimming as previews are being shown on the massive screen in front of you.

You're too busy fidgeting and trying not to make a complete and utter _arse_ of yourself, because this is just really really _awkward_ now that you think about it.

_'At least you're spending time with him,'_ your mind helpfully supplies and it's a major comfort.

Because you _are_ with him, and everything becomes relatively okay in your eyes.

So you sit through the opening credits, the major and minor character introductions, look over towards your new-found companion every time he laughs at something that you're pretty sure wasn't meant to be laughed at...like the main character's love interest being diagnosed with cancer thirty minutes in.

And eventually this seemingly uncomfortable situation becomes thoroughly enjoyable and you find yourself laughing too through the crapily written script, the semi-predictable outcomes of the fight scenes as well as every time someone gets brutally stabbed right in the jugular, which was a reoccurring theme throughout the film.

The plot was _that_ ridiculous.

But then, and much to your distraught dismay, the tone of the movie drastically changes, and it's the Hero and his Soon-to-die-of-a-malignant-tumor-lover all alone, the music that fills the theater turns into something distinctly 'bow-chicka-bow-wow'-esque and you have this nagging feeling that some higher being _must_ be out to get you.

The last thing you want to do is sit through a goddamn sex scene with the man who took your virginity _yesterday_.

Your body freezes as he leans over, his warm breath ghosting across your ear.

"Tha' could b'yer ass he's enter'n." He whispers, head tilting towards the screen to indicate the scenario he was referring too.

You bring a hand to your ear, trying to cover it and you look at him with wide eyes.

He laughs because you're blushing so hard that despite the theater's darkness he can still see it.

Because he got a rise out of you.

You tense up even more when you feel one of his hands on the top of your thigh, his palm slowly drifting up to more intimate regions and you gasp as silently as possible when he firmly grips your groin in one fluid movement.

"What're you _doing_?" Because, really, sex in a car is one thing, but this, _this_ was a completely different bag of oranges all together.

"Wha's it look like m'doin'?" He returns as his lips nuzzle your neck, leaving teasing licks that are doing the most _amazing_ thing to your circulatory system.

"S-somethng that you shouldn't in a public place," You hiss out, eyes widening even more as your zipper is pulled down, your hands grabbing at his because he really _should_ stop.

"Dun' be such'a prude," His voice is practically a purr as he bites your neck and you're body instantly remembers how _much_ you like it when he does that, his groping hand slipping past your clothes so it's just skin on skin.

It takes all your strength to stay quiet and you bite the back of your left hand to silence the moans. "I'm not- ah-...a prude," You whisper back and his teeth dig in deeper.

You can't believe how completely fortunate and _un_fortunate you are at the same time, because _good God_ you've only just had your first real sexual experience yesterday and here you are for round two, and _flying shit-cakes why_ is he doing this right the fuck now?

You're hyper aware of everything that's going on at this very moment, of his hands on you, and the way his fingers are toying with your balls- which makes you want to throw yourself at him, roll into his touch and go seven different kinds of crazy- and you do to the best of your abilities.

You find that now is as good a time as any to try and scope your surroundings, find out who the potential audience was for the show that you and he are putting on right now, and you let out a grateful sigh.

The closest person to you is two rows down and across the room, there were only about five other people in total occupying various other seats, all to immersed in the scene currently flittering onto the screen.

"See Princess, nothin' t'worry about." And you absently nod, eyes glazing over with pure pleasure as he continues to pump you hard and fast, his fingers gripping tighter at the base with every stroke and _god dammit_ you would give anything to just be able to let out a scream right now.

You wonder why you can't go a good two hours without doing something sexual with this person, like everyone else. You wonder what makes him so special.

But you find relief from the pent up screams and thoughts when his mouth is on yours and he's able to muffle every groan and whine with his lips which he greedily takes in.

And _fuck_ if he keeps this up for much longer you don't know if your voice will be able to stay quiet enough with just his mouth muffling yours, your tongues viciously sliding against one another as his teeth start to tug at your bottom lip.

"Mmn, I...I can't," You try to get out, but he won't have it and he pulls you on top of him, in that remote area of that practically empty theater and you've never been more thankful in your life for the fact that the room was square because squares meant corners and corners meant the perfect hiding spot for a quick shag evidently.

"Shh," He breathes against you, bringing the hand that's _not_ occupied with stroking your dick around to grip your ass and you feel your whole stomach clench at the contact.

You start to moan into his mouth again for the umpteenth time when his index finger somehow manages to locate your entrance and starts to circle the puckered hole.

Your eyes clench tight and you idly feel your glasses being shoved rather uncomfortably against your forehead, but then they're suddenly wide, wide open as his finger manages to wiggle its way inside of you and you're taken by surprise when you start to come.

Your moan is broken and contained by his shoulder as you shudder and writhe as that finger continues to slide in and out of you, your orgasm finally hitting its peak and you slowly fall back to earth.

You're panting, desperate for air because, _holy fuck_ you might be inexperienced, but you still hoped you would've been able to last a little longer.

He buries his nose in your slightly sweat dampened hair and breathes you in.

You find it oddly endearing as he slips his hands out of your pants and your skin could practically be jello for all you cared at this point and you sort of lay limply in his lap and his hands run up your arms and gently readjusts your glasses.

And he's smiling and it's the most _wonderful_ thing you've ever seen, but you have a feeling that it was a complete accident, because he's instantly shoving you off of him, back into your seat and you're left to wonder _what the fuck_ did you do wrong?

Then he's getting up and you can't seem to understand why, but then you look towards the screen, which is now black with scrolling credits and your mind happily fills with, _'Oh well duh'_ before you're following after him, his rigid back, his long steps.

And you _know_ that you must've really screwed something up because he is radiating pissed.

The moment you step out into the parking lot, the sky completely dark now, you finally man up and decide to say something, "Hey, I didn't-"

"Y'need a ride home?" He asks, ignoring your sad attempt to reconcile with him over something that you couldn't even really explain, and you're momentarily baffled by the question.

"Uh...do I...do I _what?_" Because he really can't just be offering you a ride home like it's no big deal after what had transpired in the theater.

"Need a ride?" He restates, and he is giving you that _look_ again where it's obvious that he thinks you're a looney.

You're not sure what to say, because somehow you want to say _everything_ and _nothing_ at the same time, so your mind picks up what your body dropped off and takes the recently-forgotten reigns. "Yes!" And you internally cringe at the shrill tone of your voice.

"F'gured as much," He remarks snarkily, already getting into his garbage-heap-graduate of a vehicle.

Again you're at a loss and you can't tell if he's angry or completely indifferent to you, but you know that neither option is the least bit appealing.

But you quickly hop into the car, because it was pretty nice of him to offer, and if he completely despised you wouldn't he have dumped you on the curb and gone along on his merry way?

You hope that's the case.

He asks where you live and you give him directions along the way.

The roads are lit with the orange glow of street lamps and you find some sort of odd comfort in the passenger's seat.

"Dun' go n'fall asleep on me kid." You hear him say, but your eyes are already drooping and you shift your shoulders in an effort to get more comfortable.

"My name's Conrad, it's not that hard to remember..." You mumble sleepily, the words almost slurred they're so quiet.

And right before you drift off you hear him chuckle, "A'right Conrad, a'right."

* * *

" 'ey, Peaches, wake the 'ell up." Are the first words you hear as your mind slowly comes awake, your eyes blinking blearily as you rub them from behind your glasses.

"Are we here already?" You ask and your voice sounds so disheartened by the prospect that it makes him laugh once again at you, and hopefully for the last time that day.

"Tha's right, now get yerself out'a the car."

You frown at his words, but do as he says, you don't have the right to protest, and you turn to look at him before closing the door.

"I...," You swallow, "I know this might seem kinda weird, but..." And you blame your sleep-clogged mind for the next words that spill from your mouth, "I'd like to see you again."

You say it so clearly, because they're from the heart, because you're still naive and so willing to let people in and experience life that you don't even think of the consequences, because you're not bogged down with all those adult obligations to the world around you yet.

"Ya sure r'n odd one." He comments, running a hand through his short blond hair.

"Well _you're_ one to talk."

And there's that wild tone of his laughter, but you can't even bring yourself to get angry over it, sensing that it's not mocking in the least. Because what you said is the truth, and there's nothing funnier than that.

You hands curl tightly around the doorframe, and you take in a deep breath.

"So, because I think we went about this incorrectly..." You're trying to be casual, trying to calm the beating of your heart as you stretch out your hand towards him, a light hue of red coming to your cheeks despite yourself, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Conrad."

He looks at your hand appraisingly, a sharp quirk to his lips. "Definitely n'odd one." But then his hand is in yours, and his grip is surprisingly gentle.

"Jus' call me Worth."

* * *

**A/N: Did ya like it? Awkward!Connie just rocks so hard amIright?**

**Reviews make the world go round~ (hint hint NUDGE NUDGE!)**


	3. Third Encounter

**A/N: Too early for a near fatal accident? NEVER! **

**I got this up tonight for Dhampir72, because they insisted and I went ::shrug:: I've got ten minutes to kill and proof-read this for posting~ Here ya go darlin'**

Disclaimer: I own nothing~ Literally...metaphorically?...nah pretty literally.

**Crossfire Chapter Three:

* * *

**

You haven't seen Worth in two weeks.

It's almost like a culture shock the first couple of days as you reconnect with your friends and trade stories about you're not-long-enough summer break while getting your class schedules for the upcoming year. You feel anxious, distracted...

And oddly empty.

But your last year of high school has started and _fuck_ you're really regretting enrolling in five Advance Placement courses because it's only the second week in and you're already prepping for three essays on topics that you _know_ are going to make you procrastinate until the very last day to actually write them.

You start looking forward to fifth period A.P. Studio Art, the only class that you can recall your Mom being very adamantly against as she begrudgingly signed off your priority-enrollement sheet just before the end of junior year.

It's the only class you actually enjoy doing which you know must irritate her immensely.

You've always been average at math and science, you've always gotten straight A's- except for that _one_ time sophomore year...and it wasn't even your fault-, but that's not because you _like_ to do those things.

You just _do_ because that's how you were brought up, because it's necessary for you to get into a good college.

You remember how many of your teachers are complete jerks. Somehow you managed to forget that scrap of common knowledge during the span of June to August and their spouts of hostility towards you whenever you ask a completely innocent question are ridiculously unnecessary, and _God_ if they would just answer the question without acting like they suddenly had a million other things to do as they played solitaire on their computers maybe you'd be able to go about your merry way.

But that's not really the point.

Your phone starts to ring and vibrate crazily, alerting you that it's time to wake up and get ready for another day of school. Thin fingers deftly shut the alarm off and fumble around for your glasses, which you quickly put on as you push yourself up from the warm sanctuary of your comforter and pillows.

It's the first Thursday of September and you still haven't seen him.

You let out a sigh and get out of bed, grab the clothes that are resting on your desk and enter the bathroom for a quick shower.

You get ready with practiced ease and you're already waiting at the bus stop down the street before you know it.

You ask yourself what you where expecting, as if there could have really been anything more to the odd little relationship you had barely managed to forge with Worth over those two days.

Of course it had been the two most memberable days of your seventeen years of living, but _truly_ there was nowhere for the two of you to go, and he hadn't seemed the least bit interested in you anyways outside of the two quick romps involving your nether regions and, honestly, that's hardly the proper foundation for a relationship.

But still... you can't get him out of your head.

And that has to mean _something_, right?

Your bus arrives and dutifully brings you to school as the late bell for first period is ringing, but you don't feel rushed in the least. You shove your hands in your pockets and carry about your day.

Somewhere between break and fourth period your friends decide that, _oh my god_ we should _totally_ go see that new Sci-fi thriller that came out today!

You smile and agree, you have nothing better to do with your Thursday night after all. Those essays aren't due until the end of school the next day, you've still got plenty of time and you figure if you get the writing done by third period you can type it up in fourth, no big deal.

You can always turn them in late too, that was always an option.

So you all plan a time and place to meet, heading off to your respective classes to hopefully finish the day smoothly.

Which you do.

It was as uneventful as all the rest and you give your Mom a call to let her know you're going to a movie with some friends and you'll be home late.

She gives you an uncaring, 'stay safe' as you say your goodbyes, quickly hanging up as you run the last ten feet towards the small group that's already gathered.

You all laugh and tease as you walk the four or five blocks to the theatre, but eventually you find yourself staring off elsewhere, they don't seem to notice a thing.

You really should have tried to get Worth's number at least, someway to get in contact with him, or him you, but _of course_ you didn't think of it at the time, why would you?

You're brought back to your senses only to realize your friends yelling something frantically at you.

"What?" You ask, you're having trouble hearing them over the loud, screeching noise coming from your side, and _holy fucking shit_ there's a goddamn car coming straight at you and when the _fuck_ did you end up in the middle of the street?

You're body is frozen and you can't move, but the vehicle that rams straight into you was kind enough to do the deed for you because now you're soaring through the air and you _know_ something breaks as soon as you hit the ground because _shit_ your leg just isn't meant to be bent that way.

The pain that consumes you is searing and hot and you hear your glasses clatter somewhere by your right ear, they're probably broken just like your goddamn leg, but you're really not sure.

Your friends are running towards you, screaming something, calling for help as they hover over your broken frame.

You wonder why you haven't passed out yet.

Time seems to be speeding by so quickly and your eyes shift away from the frightened faces saying something at you. Your body feels numb, every muscle, every fiber so worn from the sudden shock of the accident that it's like they've gone into hibernation as you look at the sky. You're pretty sure clouds aren't meant to be moving so quickly.

You feel hands on you, careful and precise as you're being lifted into an ambulance and chartered off to a hospital.

They hook you up to an I.V. and you still wonder why the hell you're awake because the two men sitting on either side of you and tending to your limp body to the best of their abilities are moving way to fast and and it starts to make you dizzy.

Or maybe that's due to the blood loss, you can't really say.

So you breathe in deep, oddly calm about all of this because, _hey_ it's not like you're in severe pain or anything and at least you didn't waste a good ten bucks on some piece of shit movie that you weren't really that interested in seeing anyways.

The thought of sitting through one had lost it's appeal since that day with Worth anyways.

You're being rolled into the hospital's I.C.U. and you feel momentarily blinded as the passing ceiling lights speed past you.

You suddenly stop moving, white fuzziness spotting your vision and you blink a few times rather slowly.

The blissfully numbing cap on all your nerves is slowly fading away and you're reluctant to see it go, you can already feel the blistering pain of your body just on the edges of your consciousness.

You're surrounded by white coats and blurred faces, quickly stated segments of medical script and you try to tune them out.

The lingering smell of intoxicating nicotine floods your still slightly aware senses and you're eyes widen.

Because it's _him_ and his fingers, _those_ fingers, are on your wrist before he shoves another needle into the underside of your forearm, but you can't really care.

You smile as the anesthesia makes it's round through your body.

He's scowling at you as you go under.

* * *

The first thing you see when you gradually become conscious again is your Mom and _God_ it was the most annoying thing ever.

So as she coddles you and asks about how you feel you look the other way and your eyes widen at what you see, your brain now fully functioning and raring to go.

He notices your gaze and rolls his eyes, arms crossed and so distinctly displeased.

And he leaves the room.

Your mood deflates and your mind shuts down as you promptly fall back to sleep, your Mom's scratchy voice filling your ears.

* * *

You're relieved to discover that your Mother-dearest is nowhere to be found when you wake up again, and you could really care less where she is.

You hear something rustle to your side and suddenly your heart beat accelerates, and it's quiet audible from the monitor that starts to beep sporadically somewhere to your left.

It obviously catches his attention because you watch as those eyes flick over to the green screen, watch as the peeks start to even out again and his gaze slides down to yours.

"Welcome back Princess." Worth says to you and you're left sputtering like a fish out of water.

"Wha-what are you doing? You get out through cracked lips and he doesn't seem phased by the question as he continues to replace the blood bag hanging on the same stand as the I.V.

"Was't look like 'm doin'? I'm changin' yer-"

"No, no, I mean...what are you doing _here_?" You try to sit up, but you find you can't and it irks the _living shit_ out of you because you want to be able to look at him properly and not feel so damn useless and strapped down.

He smirks at your folly and you scowl back at him. Your response seems to please him to no end as that smirk growing even wider.

Worth turns back to his task, and he stabs another needle into your skin without warning causing you to flinch because, _woah_ your nervous system suddenly works again.

"Complete'n my residency." He finally answers and you never knew your eyebrows were capable of reaching your hair line until that very moment.

"Re-residency? You're a doctor?"

He scoffs at your ignorance, " 'm almost a doctor kid, now calm th' 'ell down or I'll sedate y'again."

You instantly shut up because that's the last thing you want. "Tha's a good pup," He praises, scribbling something down onto the clipboard at the foot of your bed.

You finally get the chance to look around you, surprised to find that you can't move your right leg at all and you feel sufficiently trash-compacted to say the least, but there's a huge window to your right and you can see a pretty decent view of the shitty little city you live in through it which kinda balances out all the bad.

And Worth being there added to the whole thing times a hundred.

"So..." You start and you're surprised to see he's still standing there, but glad that you're not just talking to yourself, you do that much too much already. "What happened?"

"Y'got hit." He evenly supplies and you frown.

"By what?" Your brain really was the most unhelpful organ at the moment.

"Wha' d'ya mean, 'By what?', by a goddamn car, tha's what!" He yells and now you're thoroughly convinced that you'll forever be an utter moron in his eyes.

"Oh...," You look up at the tiled ceiling, idly counting each square, "I guess I did."

He sighs hastily, already at the door, "D'finitely an odd one."

And you can't help the small smile that comes to your lips as you close your eyes.

* * *

It's been four days since the accident and you've been granted the privilege of a wheel chair while you stay the rest of the week at your Mom's insistence, it's for your own good you suppose.

And of course the hospital doesn't mind at all because, hey, they're getting paid for your stay and a few more days couldn't possibly hurt.

You find that you're rather in favor of your Mother's decision for once in your life, which continues to bring you into a gagging fit it's just so _wrong_, because guess who you've been able to see for the past four days.

A small part of you wants to find the poor soul who your Mom is planning to sue and thank them for having the decency to run you over. Without their help you may have never seen Worth again.

Your knee is apparently what had to be operated on, it wasn't a break like you had thought. Oh no, your right patella was only shattered into a million pieces instead.

But your glasses managed to make it through the whole ordeal unscathed and you wonder how lucky you can get in a single week.

So you wheel yourself around the sterile halls of the hospital, peeking into each room with idle curiosity at what you find behind them, though your main goal is to track down that blond Aussie and you're not even trying to hide it.

Your ears perk up when you hear that unmistakable voice and you roll back a ways until you can see into the room.

Worth is sitting on the edge of the room's standard-equipped bed, listening as a young boy talks animatedly to him.

The poor thing is as skinny as a rail and the most ghostly shade of blue, but he has this strikingly vibrant red hair.

You find yourself instantly sympathizing with him because _really_ no one could possibly be living much longer looking so frail, but the way his round face seems to brighten up with every word that falls from his lips makes you think otherwise at the same time.

He seems so extremely alive and dead at the same time and you couldn't even begin to explain how. It was almost as if his body and soul were polar opposites, magnets that couldn't help but stick to one another and create this conundrum of a person despite how much it seemed to be tearing him apart.

You find yourself oddly drawn to him.

Worth sees you out of the corner of his eye and you instantly snap your head out of the doorway and try to blend into the surroundings though you know it's an attempt at futility.

He excuses himself from the red-haired boy and you flinch as soon as he steps out of the room, his eyes slowly scanning you over.

You peek through your half-closed eyelids, trying to gage his expression, but the task is near impossible from your vantage point.

He tilts his head to the side, gesturing in the direction of the elevator and indicating for you to follow as he starts to walk away.

You get into the lift after him, and the two of you are silent.

The silence carries out as you arrive at the top floor. Without saying a word he pushes you out of the elevator and over to the stairs that lead to the roof.

You try to protest, really you do, as he lifts you up like it's no big deal, like you don't weigh a thing to him, and brings you outside.

Worth lightly places you on the ground next to the roof's railing and you're relieved that he didn't just drop you to the ground because that would be such a _Worth_ thing to do right?

Or so you assume. You're not really sure what you think of him at this point.

He pulls out a pack of Marlboros from his lab coat and places one to his lips as he pads around his person for a light.

The item is found and he cups his hand around the flame as the cigarette sparks to life, a steady stream of smoke starts to float from the very tip.

"Y'see tha' kid back there?" He asks after the first inhale.

You nod absently at the question, an image of that sickly boy coming to your mind.

" 'e's been 'ere for years an' they can't f'gure out wha's wrong with 'im."

There's this tinge of anger in his voice, and you note that his eyes have narrowed the minutest of amounts.

"Why not?"

He gives you this dark dark smile, as if it was something remarkable and significant and you couldn't be trusted with the knowledge he had.

"B'cause s'not somethin' tha' modern medicine c'n cure."

And you're not really sure how to respond to that. You weren't really even aware of the possible implications.

He takes in a long hit of the cig. It's halfway done.

" 'm thinkin' of dropin' out."

Your eyes snap up from where they had been staring at your lap, and your jaw falls slightly slack.

"O-of medicine?" You stutter out because _what the fuck_ being a doctor suited Worth in some sick twisted way that probably only made sense to you.

"Yeah, it makes me sick." And his tone conveys _exactly_ how sick it makes him.

You push up your glasses so they rest correctly on your nose, your mouth going dry, "Then why'd you even start?"

There's a long long pause before he speaks.

"I thoug't I could make a diff'rence. But I hate it, caterin' to people ain't really my cup'a tea."

You have this irking feeling that there's more to his story but your too shocked by the revelations that strikes you as you watch him lean against the railing surrounding the roof as another cloud of smoke leaves his mouth and is dispersed into the wind.

You realize that you're in love with him.

In love with this person that could literally give a rats ass about what anyone thought.

That was true to himself and knew that's all that really mattered.

This person who's everything you're _not_ and never could be at least not for the moment being.

Because you're young, and shallow and you're world is so much smaller than his.

You realize that you love this person, who truly _is_ kind if you take the time to actually look.

There's is so much you want to learn from him.

And you don't want to miss a single second of it.

* * *

It's the end of the week already and Worth is wheeling you out the hospital, your Mom following close behind, and he's only doing it because it's _'hospital protocol or some shit like that'_.

Your caretaker by birth thanks him profusely as you get to the exit and it's the most surreal thing to see your own Mother thank the man you had illicit sexual relations with not a month ago.

You manage to hobble your way outside on the crutches you were given back in your hospital room and you awkwardly say goodbye and thanks to him as he waves you off from inside the hospital lobby, though there's this softness around his eyes that reads: _'It's no problem Princess.'_

You smile unconsciously over the fact that you can actually _hear_ his voice in your head.

The ride home is tortuously long because with every jostle the car makes your knee screams in protest and you wonder when your next dosage of prescription pain killers will be because they're not really doing the trick just yet.

You frown as you hop up the stairs on one foot to your room, nearly falling straight on your face too many times to count.

Your breathing is a little quicker than usual as you collapse on your bed your eyes shut tight and you're asleep before you even know it.

* * *

Another week has passed since you saw Worth again.

You've become more coordinated on your crutches and the pain in your knee has become tolerable.

You steadily make your way around school and everyone got a real kick out of it the first day or so, but now it was almost normal.

The crutches are oddly rewarding because you have the unspoken privilege of arriving to class late without any consequences which is pretty neat in it's own right.

But still no Worth.

And everything seems a little gray because of it.

* * *

Your biceps are beyond sore from crutching your way around for the past four weeks and yet somehow your scrawny twigs-for-arms refuse to build any muscle.

It's freaking annoying because your really _are_ too skinny and this could've been the perfect opportunity to bulk up a bit if your goddamn body would only cooperate.

But it won't so there goes that idea.

You've been falling behind in your studies and you've only been making minor attempts to catch up.

You're doing perfectly fine in Art, so the other classes kinda fall to the way side and you're already one-fourth of the way done with your concentration for the A.P. test in may.

As long as you get a C in English and Government you're fine for graduation.

And no matter how much your Mother has been nagging you about it, you can't bring yourself to start looking into colleges, or even really caring.

Because you have your sketch book and acrylics.

But no Worth.

So you're compensating one with the other and you can't seem to be bothered with anything else.

* * *

It's been four months.

Four long, uneventful, boring months when you finally see him again.

You're going back to the hospital to have your knee looked at, see how the healing has progressed and if it all looks good you'll be trading in your crutches for a brace.

So you're sitting in a sickeningly germ-free room, eyeing the various containers filled with examination tools and the like when the door is opened and in walks Worth.

Your Mom is still waiting out in the reception area, immersing herself in some lady-folk magazine.

He comes in and you can instantly tell that he's been smoking more than usual because the scent sort of permeates around him and it makes you frown.

His posture seems a little off too, something about the way his shoulders are sort of hunching forward and his spine is going slightly crooked.

" 'ow's the knee?" You're grateful to find that his voice is exactly the same though.

"It's alright I guess," Because really how are you supposed to know? You're going off the fact that you've become tolerant of the pain, not always the best sign.

"Let's 'ave a'look then," and he pulls the rolling stool sitting in the corner over to the examination bed you're sitting on and reaches for your leg.

He carefully rolls up your right pant leg of the grey sweats you've come to appreciate more than any other article of clothing in your possession, skin-tight jeans became such a _bitch_ to deal with when you had a knee-injury.

He cups your calf and you've forgotten how quickly your heart could pick up because of this man, and your hands clench down on the sanitary paper you sitting on.

His fingers ghost up your leg and you swallow hard as it rests on the wrapping around your knee.

"W-Worth?" You stammer out and his eyes leave your knee and meet your gaze.

"Wha' is it Princess?" He responds, rolling over to the small counter imbedded into the wall, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a small pair of medical scissors.

You lace your fingers together and rest them in your lap as he comes back and starts to cut away the gauze around your knee. "Are you...alright?"

" 'm fine Peaches, n'ver b'n better." Though the distinct lack of narcissism in his tone says otherwise.

You cringe at the large red scar that you hadn't had the opportunity to see yet and it kinda makes you sick to look at it so you focus instead on the top of his head and he looks you over.

"Are you sure?"

His fingers freeze and his entire form tenses.

When his eyes meet yours it's obvious he's beyond pissed.

And suddenly you're lying flat and being pinned to the bed. "Wha's'it matter t'you?" He returns, voice harsh and cold.

Your eyes are wide behind your glasses, and your heart is like a conga-drum on freaking uppers. "I-I'm just w-worried is all..."

He laughs, though it's more like a strangled chuckle more than a laugh. "Well dun' be, 'kay kid?"

Your ever growing frown is more apparent now as he stands and leaves the room.

You sit up, trying to calm down your heart and you let out a sigh.

_This was just so stupid_. You haven't seen him in months and you feel like you're _fucking_ everything up.

Worth enters the room again, a squishy, sponge-looking object in hand.

It looks like nothing has really changed, though his shoulders aren't drooping as much and his posture is a little better. He places the brace around your right leg, and his fingers linger a little longer than necessary.

"Yer all done." He says, those fingers still on your shin and he looks at you with one of his signature smirks as he slides the appendages down to your ankle.

You breath hitches at the contact and the smirk widens a fraction. "Ya c'n leave now Kitten." He suggests, but you shake your head lightly.

Because there is no possible way you could even begin to consider leaving as those hands trail back up your calves and he brings his lips to the skin just above your braced knee.

"Y'sure?" He breathes against the skin and you let out a small hum of approval.

He bites against the small expanse of skin in between your brace and rolled up pant-leg, your whole body tensing as he kneads the flesh with his teeth.

Those lips trail up your inner thigh, teasing you through the cotton fabric of your pants until he's pushing up your shirt and nipping around your navel.

Your eyes slide shut and your left hand laces through his short hair.

His tongue creates unintelligible patterns across your abdomen and down to your pelvic region, your breath escalating with each slide of warm perfection against your skin.

He bites viscously down on the lightly protruding bone of your hip and you hiss lightly, because _fucking shit_ you've been craving this for so damn long.

"Worth," You let out and he hums against the lightly forming bruise he just made, "Worth _please_."

He pulls back and grins up at you so mockingly, "Please what Confag?"

You let the jab slide, you're just too_ goddamn_ needy to deal with it. You bite your lips as those fingers are slowly pulling down the waistband of your pants and his lips ghost over that sensitive junctions where your hip meets your thigh.

"Something," You finally respond, though your voice is slightly broken, "_Anything_," and suddenly you're back to pleading.

"Tha's kinda vague," He teases and you whine because his lips aren't on your skin anymore and that was the _last_ thing you wanted.

But right when you open you eyes they're being closed as your whole body contracts and arches back, your fingers clenching tightly in his hair.

Because his lips are around you and it's one of the most _intense_ things you have ever felt in your life.

He starts to tongue your slit and you're trying to muffle your voice to the best of your capabilities without the use of your hands which are much too preoccupied with Worth's hair.

His fingers hold down your shaking hips as his mouth takes you in a little deeper. You're mind has completely flat-lined, your skin is tingling and vibrating like crazy and you're almost cradling his head against your pelvis from your hunched over position.

Your hands start to slide down from his hair, to his white lab-coat and under his collar, your palms against his shoulders as he takes you further into his mouth.

You can't stop the moan that slips out this time and he laughs, the sudden vibration against your dick nearly sends you over the edge with another moan, your fingers clawing against his skin and leaving red trails in their wake. Since _when_ did something like this feel so _fucking_ good and why hadn't anyone told you about it sooner?

The harsh treatment to his shoulders seems to prompt Worth to go even further because suddenly his lips are all the way around the base of your shaft and he's _swallowing_.

You shudder and your legs clench around his sides, but he doesn't stop. He deep-throats you again and again and you can't even hope to hold on much longer.

You try to warn him, you really do, but you can feel the back of his throat against the head of your beyond hard erection and you can't stop cuming into that hot passage.

But he doesn't seem to mind and greedily swallows it all down.

Some part of you is so disgusted by the fact that he actually _swallowed_, but it's quickly shot dead by the more hormonal area of your brain that finds it so incredibly _hot_.

He licks you clean and you twitch with every touch, you skin extremely hyper-sensitive after orgasming so wonderfully.

Your thoughts still haven't managed to become coherent just yet as he stands and lightly pulls your pants back up.

You mumbled a satisfied _'Thanks'_ as he straightens out his shirt and coat.

He goes to leave, but your body wants otherwise as your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

Worth seems surprised as he looks back at you, but your eyes are focused on the ground.

You build up your courage steadily and you meet his impatient eyes.

"I...I missed you." And your cheeks are as red as a tomato, but you're trying to keep your face serious while trying to prevent your mind from spontaneously combusting

It's a pretty difficult task.

There's that appraising look, that sweep up and down that you find yourself not minding as much anymore. Let him look, let him look all he wants.

He gently pries your hand away from his wrist and leans down so your heights are level.

The kiss is nothing short of spectacular, as his tongue explores your mouth and you wrap your still slightly shaking arms around his neck.

You lean into him as he pushes you up against the wall, mindful of your injury the entire time.

You're almost frantic as your mouths meet again and again, sliding and nipping and breathing each other in.

But you love it, the way his teeth mare the skin of your neck, the way his fingers tighten around your hips.

And you're not sure when you started to grind against each other, but apparently that's crossed some line that you had never been aware of because he's holding you against the wall at arms length, separating you.

He kisses you once more, quickly and evenly before he pulls away with an air of finality and leaves the room.

You're left to catch yourself against the hard surface at your back even though collapsing does sound _so appealing_ at the moment.

You close your eyes and calm your breathing.

* * *

You're a little unsteady on your legs and you have to use the wall for support as your gradually limp your way out of the examination room and over to your Mother.

She contributes the redness in your cheeks to the lack of crutches and the exertion cause by their absence, of course there's no way she could ever know the actual reason.

That you had just been given your very first b.j. for no extra charge by a soon-to-be-Doctor as well as the current object of your stupidly naive affections.

"What took you so long?" She asks as you both get into the car.

Your cheeks go red hot as you determinedly look out the window at the passing scenery, ignoring her question completely.

Because your mind is filled with Worth and how much you didn't mind tasting yourself on his tongue.

* * *

**A/N: Just wanna say thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, it would really make me happy to hear more feedback though :D Porn needs inspiration people! **


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